


If I Listen, Will You Touch Me?

by wakandan_wardog



Series: A Touch of Grace [2]
Category: The Losers (2010)
Genre: Brief/Suggested Subspace/Subdrop, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Male Character of Color, Minor Character(s), Pining, Pre-Movie, Prequel, Subdrop, Subspace, Unintentional BDSM
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-07
Updated: 2018-07-07
Packaged: 2019-06-06 14:39:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15196955
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wakandan_wardog/pseuds/wakandan_wardog
Summary: Jake's POV for "If I Touch You, Will You Listen?" as well as some insight to his life before The Losers. Jake's doing his job and holding it together until Cougar gets hands on him, and then he can't quite focus.Note that Jake approaches subspace/subdrop accidentally.





	If I Listen, Will You Touch Me?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [rinnwrites](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rinnwrites/gifts).



> Darling this fic wouldn't be here without you. I hope it is entertaining for your delightful self. Know that I adore you!

Jake Jensen is well aware that there is a running pool on him, and he knows that it spikes with a bet on base as soon as the smoking remains of his unit gets back. The other soldiers scatter with a faint nod to the CO, not even looking at him as they beat boots of to anywhere-but-there. Halfway across grounds his CO glances back and realizes he’s still obediently following and snarls at him to find a bunk in the barracks. Jake hits the brakes because that’s as good as permission, watching as the man stomps off to make his after-action report, red-faced and fuming.

Well, nothing for it now. He shrugs and turns away, striding to the barracks with his head held high. There’s no telling how many people the CO will pass on the way to speak to brass, but by the time Jake has found a bed the soldiers around him are dropping cash, IOUs, and various forms of currency into a bag that two grinning Corporals are carrying around. They don’t stop, just pass by him with a wink and a nod. Clearly, word has gotten around. Jake throws himself onto his bed, pulls out his laptop, and goes to work.

His previous Unit goes to pieces, a fact that doesn’t surprise him at all. The group had been unbalanced, their leader was untested and prone to rushing into situations to prove himself. The only reason they’d made it was because there wasn’t a system Jake couldn’t hack, even on an insane time limit. Still, it means his future is up in the air again. Again, again, the way it is every time he turns around. He’s gone a week later, assigned to The Losers. He doesn’t know who won the pool, but there are considerable looks of shock all around as he tosses the strap of his duffle over his shoulder and walks out with his laptop under his arm. Whatever the bet was, The Losers hadn’t been on the table for the bidders. Someone probably made a killing on it.

They hadn’t been on the table for Jake either, but he’ll take it. He hears Franklin Clay isn’t too bad, unorthodox some people say. Jake can get behind unorthodox. After all, it’s what brass writes about him when they’re trying to sell him to a new team. Alongside things like ‘cool under pressure’, ‘proficient with firearms’ and ‘capable of stealth, undercover and op-tech operations’. All those things are true, but they’re not the whole truth.

They don’t make notes about how he never shuts his fucking mouth. Maybe because everyone that’s heard of him knows that already. The people that haven’t heard of him are the ones they try to sell him to, so they’re not gonna tip their hand about it. It’s dishonest but he doesn’t blame them. He’s an asset, and an asset does them no good on a shelf, they need him in the field with someone.

No matter what he can do in the field, it doesn’t impress the boys at base. At the end of the day, Jake is a computer geek, a Hacker. Granted, he’s the best the U.S. Government has –even they don’t know how good he really is- and he’s a crack shot. But he’s still _just_ a hacker, to most classic-minded soldiers. Wars are fought in person, not on the computer, most of them think. So really, none of them have any idea what to do with him. He gets bounced from unit to unit, never lasting with a group longer than two weeks, sometimes not more than a single mission. It is what it is.

Or, was. Because Franklin Clay is different. Clay will take any leg up he can get in a situation; even if that leg-up is a six foot, motor-mouthed hacker. A hacker that is only truly happy with two computers in front of him and either an empty room or a team that doesn’t threaten to shoot him because he can’t be quiet or sit still. None of the Losers threaten to shoot him, but about twenty minutes into their first op Roque –the second in command- has taken to stroking a really big knife and eying Jensen thoughtfully.

As a sort of survival instinct, Jake has been a Loser for a month by the time he develops what will become his fool-proof pre-Op briefing routine. In his defense, it’s been in the works for years now but nothing is perfect. Nothing lasts very long, sooner or later he burns through the entertainment value and starts shooting his mouth off. Any of his previous posts could vouch for it too, if he’d been with them for even a fraction of the time he’s been a Loser.

Jake can’t help that he needs something to do –something other than _listen_ \- or he’ll go crazy. If he goes crazy he’ll get loud, if he gets loud then Roque will kill him. Slowly, painfully, with many large knives that are literally always on Roque’s person. Roque has _promised_ , and Jake _believes_ him, alright? Besides, it’s common sense. Roque has been with Clay the longest, so if their CO is going to cover for anyone it’d probably be him. Jake wants to live –despite all evidence to the contrary- so he makes up his checklist of things to run through while Clay talks and it saves everyone a lot of trouble.

For the most part, it works.

It works so well that Jake’s been a Loser for six months, and it hasn’t really failed him yet. At least, he’s still alive and still on the team, so he counts that as a win. As plans go, it’s pretty simple: The first two times Clay runs through options and plans, Jake listens with the greatest amount of his attention he can bear to give. This usually means no computers in hand, just a pen and a file and copious amounts of notes as he watches Clay and Roque and Pooch bicker and discuss. When they ask about op-tech and coms, he answers, and sometimes his smartass mouth runs off without his permission. But for the most part, he behaves himself. And there’s no stabbing, so he counts it as a victory.

Clay rolls his eyes a lot, but nothing is perfect.

So the plan calls for utter attention for the first two run-throughs of the op. After that? All bets are off. Jake gets to talk again. He has to talk to himself or his computers or anyone on the unit willing to listen, but he’s not allowed to babble loud enough to fill the room. That’s fine, he can work with that.

After all, “J-Mageddon” Jensen has his own to-do list to run through before a mission. Things like checking all their coms and batteries for tech, reviewing all equipment for the op itself, pulling up or hacking into satellite feed of the area, the target zone, and any other area they might be crossing into or forced into during an exit. With the mobile intel and equipment cleared, he makes sure that any items they’re going to leave behind are packed and hidden. Those that they need, he and Pooch pack carefully. Once those are staged and ready to be loaded into whatever vehicle they’ll use for the op, Jensen is back to his computers.

A secure connection and a military issued laptop means he’s got access to all sorts of satellite feeds, military files, encrypted and top secret information alike. Sure a lot of it would be above his clearance if a little thing like that were enough to stop him. Sufficient to say, it isn’t. It’s not enough to keep him entertained and silent either, but it helps.

He hisses praise and profanity and idle speculation about the weather and local sports and architecture of a region as he works his way through sat-feeds and field op reports. Most of it is on topic, honestly. His team is on the line -his _neck_ is on the line- so yeah, _Clearance_ doesn’t mean much. If Clay needs information, encrypted or top secret or above their clearance or not, Jensen gets it. He reads it a half-dozen times, translates what needs translating for the team, and covers his tracks before moving onto the next thing.

The last thing to do before he double checks all the work he’s done is the hardest thing. But it’s important so he sets up queued emails for any and all relatives or friends that might miss them, makes sure to cover all his bases in case one or all of them don’t come back. He doesn’t like to think about it, about how his sister would feel if she actually had to read the email… but he has to make sure she gets something.

After that he’s off double checking his various sat and database links, making sure he’s got every scrap of information he can glean from files and photos and code before they turn themselves over to the hands of fate. Around him, the Team settles into what he considers the homestretch, where Pooch is softly intent as he listens to Clay’s entry and get-away plans. Where Roque sharpens his knives and watches Clay’s back like he thinks a stray crazy woman’s gonna stumble into the room and throw herself at their CO to start the op off with a bang.

Jake can’t stop his brain running through various reactions to the situation, generating four variations of the mystery woman in general and then letting his various teammates react to her in an unoccupied corner of his head. He’s absolutely certain that Roque would throw a knife at her, having had enough of Clay’s bullshit with his women. The Second just wouldn’t take the chance, he’d rather write up an incident report than live through another bombing attempt or whatever else Clay’s ladies can rain down. Pooch would probably walk past her to see what she’s driving, because he’s not stepping out on Jolene for anything but wheels are wheels. Clay might try and charm her, if she seemed volatile enough, or crazy enough, whatever his criteria were for that. As for Cougar?

Well, Cougs is the most inscrutable, the one that Jensen stalls out on for scenarios. Granted, Cougar is a hit with the ladies, and Jensen can’t blame them. Somewhere around all that caramel colored skin, those whiskey-shadow eyes, the silky black hair he wears down to his shoulders… Yeah, Jensen can see it. Can totally get a woman wanting to put lipstick stains on the arch of Cougar’s throat, to leave claw marks over his lean, muscular shoulders and bite his soft-looking lips. That’s before you get to the way Cougar moves –like a hunting cat, damn him, and it should be funny but it just turns Jake on- or the cowboy hat he’s almost always wearing.

Ok yeah, in Jake’s defense, Cougar is really distracting and Jensen can’t quite bring himself to imagining how the lean-bodied, mostly-silent Mexican man would react to a complete stranger when there are so many more enjoyable scenarios to consider. Scenarios including himself, for one thing, but you don’t lust after your Spec Ops Sniper Buddy. You just _don’t_. It’s in the _rules_.

Rules that Jensen wrote, for himself, immediately on the spot after being introduced to Cougar. Rules he wrote in his head while knowing he’d already broken them all, and there was no fucking way he could undo it. But really, who could blame him? Clay had shown him to a room, pointed out the two darkest Losers with a murmured _‘Best wheelman in the military right here, and his call-sign is Pooch. If he wants to tell you his name, he will, but if you laugh he’ll probably beat you up. That’s Roque, my second. You piss him off, he’ll stab you, and I won’t see a damn thing because I don’t want to write the report, alright?’_. And yeah, that was alright, Jake could get that.

But then a third figure had detached itself from a shadowy corner and Clay had just shrugged. _‘That’s Cougar, he just does that. Long range eliminations, but deadly face to face. Best thing about him is I won’t find your body, I’ll just get to report you being AWOL. Clear?’_ Clear. Jake had nodded, slack-jawed and wide-eyed, blue eyes fixed on the eyes watching him from under the brim of a sexy leather cowboy hat. He knew was done for already, caught by the gleam of black and teak and an inhuman circle of gold around the pupil.

 _Christ_. Ok. Long range eliminations? That means Cougar can kill Jake before Jake thinks about half the things he’s fuckin’ thinking right the hell now.

Rules: _Don’t fall in lust with the sniper. Don’t even fall in like with the sniper. Stop fucking staring, Jensen._

Every single one of ‘em: failed. But damn it, anyone with _eyes_ had to know that Cougar was sex walking. Could they really blame him?

(Cougar could blame him. Cougar could blame the hell out of him, which is why Cougar must never find out.)

But damn, _Cougar_.

Warmth brews in his belly and Jake snaps back to the present, moving to re-cross one leg over the other to hide his reaction to his daydreams and swearing softly as he hits the precariously balanced crates he managed to craft into a table. It sends everything to wobbling and the spike of lust is easily ignored, a frantic jolt of panic lacing through him as he fights to catch and balance everything once again. He sighs in relief when everything stills, resuming typing like the wind.

He doesn’t want to look up, doesn’t want the knowledge of Cougar catching him daydreaming or flailing around like an idiot. It’s easier to just not look, to do his job, and pray like hell that his face isn’t red from embarrassment. He’s almost grateful when Clay starts shouting.

“Losers, let’s head out!” The CO booms, pulling maps off the wall as he shoots the room a glare and then fixes his gaze on Jake. “Rally point in the jungle, Jensen, if you’re done chatting up your catfish in Russia?”

Attention caught by his CO’s voice, Jake’s head snaps up as he continues to type madly. It’s one of the first things he learned in a computer class, typing blind, but it never fails to make one of the Losers look at him and roll their eyes. Today it’s Roque, but Roque can’t type well, to begin with, so Jake ignores the mute critique. Instead, he gives a distracted nod and then turns back to the line of coding, finishing with a flourish and spitting out his pen so he can sass Clay when the older man has his back turned. “Awww don’t be like that, Colonel!”

He hits send, closes all the windows with a smart click, and then folds both laptops shut simultaneously. When Clay glances over, Jensen smiles wickedly and widens his blue eyes in a parody of innocence. “I’d offer to introduce you, but at this distance how would you know when they try to kill you?”

Clay gives him a flat look that’s part disappointment and part annoyance, but it’s fond and not murderous.

Roque gives a booming laugh as he slides yet another knife into a sheath at his back, tilting his head like he’s considering the whole thing. “If they don’t try to kill you, is it really love?”

At that even Pooch gives a laugh, which is saying something. Pooch is the most respectful of them all, at least outside of Cougar who rarely says a thing, sarcastic or otherwise. Soon enough Pooch’s soft laugh subsides into snickers as he finishes packing. Without further comment, their wheelman scoops up Mojito and his pack and lunges for the door, eager to get to transport. Jensen watches him go in amusement. Pooch and his thing about driving; it’s not like any of them would fight him for the wheel anyway.

Left behind, Roque continues to hide a truly staggering amount of knives on his person before helping Clay pack the last of their gear. Jensen begins to stow his computers, shooting Cougar a grin and a wink as he coils wires and folds them away. He expects the sniper to scoop up his rifle, and disappear out the door. As he works Jake does inventory on his weapons, knowing his vest is waiting in the Humvee with Pooch. As it stands he ready to go, he’s already got his gun at his hip, another pair of handguns and three spare clips in his pack, and a knife in his boot. Once he gets out to the ‘vee he can put on his vest and weapon up, and then get into the op-tech to paint their target.

At his back, Clay and Roque are arguing. 

“When are you gonna let that go, Roque?” Clay sighs and Jake wants to laugh.

 _Probably never?_ He thinks.

Clearly Pooch has the right of it, heading out to the vehicle. While it’s futile Clay follows him, aiming to steal even a minute of silence if it means he doesn’t have to hear about his failed relationships from his second. He’s still grumbling as he grabs his own gear and follows the Wheelman out the door. “One time, one.”

Jake winces, it was definitely more than once.

It winds Roque up like nothing else, that comment. He tears out the door after Clay bellowing. “One? Bullshit, one!”

Jake would take a minute to relax, but as he packs things away he can feel Cougar’s eyes on him. He knows he’s not alone. Rather than meet the Sniper’s eyes he focuses on his task, stowing the last of his gear and swinging the pack onto his shoulder. “You think it’s a good sign our CO can’t count?”

 The case with his laptops slides into place at his shoulder, a familiar weight that grounds him, keeps him steady in his head. Not quite meeting Cougar’s eyes, Jake tilts his chin up a bit, pretending to think and then wince away from the number his brain conjures as he jokes. “There’s been a hell of a lot more than one woman trying to kill him.”

There’s silence in the room, but it’s no more than what he expected. The thing is, Cougs doesn’t say much out loud. So Jake has to look at him to see how he responds, and that’s fine as long as he can keep a handle on his own impulses. Impulses that roar to life every time he’s got the Sniper in his sightline, because Cougs is beautiful and lean and dangerous and everything about him makes Jake want to go belly up and whine.

With his gear on and the bags weighing him down, Jake feels a little more balanced. He shifts slightly, widening his stance, and risks a glance at Cougar. And yeah today –right now?- is no different. Jake looks at Cougar and he can’t help but _want_.

_‘Fuck. Keep it together, Jensen.’_

He drops his eyes again, tilts his chin up and away from the other soldier. It bares his throat to the room, but the room is empty except for Cougar. Cougar, who he’s not looking at head-on because if he does he’s gonna open his mouth and something pathetic and soft and whimpering will escape. That, or words. Words like ‘ _please’_ , or _‘I need you’_. If he looks at Cougar he’s gonna slide to his knees and _ask_.

No real point in ‘don’t ask, don’t tell’ if Jake just flat out begs for it, right?

So Jake, very carefully, does not look. (Because if he looks he’s gonna ask and he _cannot_ ask.) Instead, he swallows back the words that threaten to escape and then absolutely freezes at the sudden touch of a hand. Cougar’s hands are graceful things, tanned and dark and worn, calloused from curling around the hilt of a blade or the stock of a gun. A fighter’s hands, but competent, quiet. He can set charges and has an elegant hand when writing up a post-op or field report. When assembling his rifle they attach each part smoothly, gliding over his rifle delicately; he cleans his own equipment with a methodical, steady assurance.

He handles Jake that way too, like Jake thought he might, the warmth of his palm curling over Jake’s weak points. Cougar easily cups a hand around the back of his neck and with a bit better angle or a little bit of pressure he could end Jake right there. He might, considering how badly Jake wants to start talking, wants to just give into the rising warmth in his spine, the sudden lassitude in his limbs. It would be so easy to go under for Cougs, here in a base they’re abandoning on the way to an op in the heart of the Bolivian jungle. So easy to let his knees fold under him and slide into abeyance, obedient, easily directed.

“Jake.” Cougar rumbles, and Jake can’t help but freeze. All the restlessness, the panic of being caught, seeps away. He’s looking at Cougar, can’t help it, his attention called immediately at the low murmur of his name. He’ll do anything, anything Cougar wants. Cougar just has to _tell_ him.

One touch, and whatever Cougar wants, he can _make_ Jake do. Jake can’t even be stressed about it, there’s a fuzzy sort of warmth unfolding in the back of his head. All he wants is to kneel, to let his eyes drift shut, let Cougar direct him. Maybe he does drift on the feeling, caught in the honey-sweet slow stretch of time, eyes gone half-lidded.

“Jake.” Cougar growls and attention returns at the hint of disapproval. The warmth that has been stretching over Jake’s awareness pulls back, then shatters over him at the sudden presence of tanned fingers curled into his hair. It’s like lightning, his nerves lighting up as Cougar scratches warningly at his scalp and grips the short gold strands, and Jake just barely swallows a keen.

“ _Me escuchas?_ I have a bad feeling about this, so I want you to be careful.”

Jake wants to be good, wants to be so good, but it’s all he can do not to whine for a firmer hand in his hair. He swallows restlessly and nods slowly, knowing a response is required but unable to form words that aren’t a keening plea for attention. His throat’s gone dry, and he licks his lips nervously as he waits for some queue.

The hold continues and Cougar waits, staring, expectant. Worried that his previous response wasn’t enough, Jake swallows again and offers a bewildered but ultimately agreeable reply. “A, bad feeling? Ok, Cougs. Sure. I’m always careful.”

It evidently isn’t quite agreeable enough, because Cougar’s mouth goes flat and tight and his eyes narrow disapprovingly. “More careful than you usually are.”

His words are a growl and he uses his grip in Jake’s hair to shake him sharply. It’s different than the honey-warm-safe feeling, more like the initial lightning strike of the pull has been increased ten-fold. Jake tilts his chin more, offering more of his throat, swallowing the whimpering that fights to claw out of his chest. At his sides, his hands clench on his gear, because if they don’t he’s reaching for Cougar’s hip and begging.

Cougar doesn’t seem to be in the mood for that, his tone is sharp and his eyes a mass of shadows. “Your usual amount, it’s not good enough. You’ll do better, _si_? _Entiendes_?”

Jake wants to whine, but hopes a quick response will ease Cougar’s ire. “Ah, _si_ , better than usual.”

He wobbles a bit and then shivers as it pulls at Cougar’s hold on his hair, and when he nods obediently he has to swallow another surge of sound. At this point, his voice is soft and strained, but he can’t help it. “Whatever you say, Cougs.”

That seems to help a little since Cougar’s hand eases up on the hold even as he growls and his mouth curls in something like anger. If he’s mad, it isn’t directly at Jensen. “If we go into the villa, you stay close to me.”

Close to Cougar is good. Jake always wants to be close to Cougar… but then the rest of the words sink in and he’s blinking, baffled and slow. “Huh?”

It’s so hard to concentrate, but Jake tries because Cougar’s looking at him expectantly and he doesn’t want to let Cougs down. Right, Op, important. But, what? Jakes brain scrambles for op details and he feels more baffled than before. “Go in? Cougar we’re just surveillance and eyes on! Gonna find ourselves a nice hilltop in the jungle, paint the place for a payload, and we’re done. Easy.”

He wants it to be quick and painless and easy and for them to maybe go out to a bar afterward… He wants to drink until he gets back to that soft warmness that he felt when Cougar palmed his neck. Wants to be drunk enough that he doesn’t notice when the Sniper gets the attention of every woman in a five-mile radius. Yeah, especially that last one.

“I said if.” Cougar growls, his grip tightening as he gives Jake another sharp shake. A warning and a command, but it still knocks Jake’s brain offline and makes him want to go belly up. He settles for quiet and compliant instead, hoping it’s enough.

“If something goes wrong, and we have to go in, you stay close to me. _Vale_?” The hold tightens, but there’s no further shaking. Still, it makes sparks go off in Jensen’s brain and goddamn it, how is he just now figuring this shit out about himself? Why does it have to be _Cougar_?

(There is no scenario that Jake’s brain can generate in which it _isn’t_ Cougar.)

“Sure.” Jensen gives a faint whine, eyes going half-lidded as he drifts on the warm feeling and the hold in his hair. “Uh, _si_. _Vale_.”

“Good.”

Holy shit. That? That is way better than it has any right to be. But somehow, one single word of praise in Cougar’s rasping voice and Jake is just about ready to kneel, regardless of what the fallout may be. He shivers in pleasure and then freezes as Cougar’s hand frees his hair, slipping down to curl over his neck once again. A moment later Cougar’s thumb strokes over the sensitive hollow of skin behind Jake’s ear, and his eyes drift closed as he shudders. He swears that he loses time, sinking under the warm feeling that threatens to overwhelm him as Cougar pets and praises.

Still, Cougs must have liked it because he repeats the gesture before turning him loose. “You first, Jake. _Vamonos_.”

Jake’s aware of the retreat of warmth, wobbling as he’s turned loose and eyes snapping wide to fix on the Sniper. He feels a bolt of panic until he gets eyes on, wanting to whine at being turned loose and at the shuddery feeling in his gut and spine. _Abandonment_.

He knows he probably looks dazed and a little lost, but the sudden surge of panic is locked in his stomach and chest, and didn’t quite make it to his face. With Cougar’s eyes on him, he tries to shake it off, coughing and shifting his bag over his waist and adjusting his grip on his laptop case. “What? Right. Op. Blowing up a villa in the middle of nowhere, Bolivia. Ok, sure. Clay and the guys are waiting, so, going.”

When he looks over he’s at least gratified to see a faint smile curling at the corner of Cougar’s mouth. Still, he stands still until the Sniper reaches for him, using the curl of Cougar’s hand around his shoulder and the splay of a warm palm over his shoulder blade to reorient himself. Cougar’s shove is gentle, and he allows it to propel him toward the door.

“Go, Jake.”

It feels like a command, and whatever else is tangled up with him right now, Jake follows commands. Usually. At least if they’re from Cougar, and this is one, fond though it may sound.

“Going, going…” He mutters, giving Cougar a soft look before steeling his spine and bolting for the door. He figures at this point it’s safe enough to ramble some of the things he’s thinking, so he picks one of his less-controversial trains of thought and lets loose as he heads out the door. “Damn sexy Mexican sniper with the hat and the hands and the accent…”

He’ll think about everything that just happened later. When they’re not on an Op. Possibly with booze. But definitely later. For now? Jake’s got a job to do. A job that only the Losers _can_ do.

He can think about Cougar’s hands on him later.


End file.
